Thursday, October 1, 2015

A POEM BY GARY G PELOW, THE COLD.

There is cold air and wind abounding everywhere I go, the cold of fear.
I would prefer the cold of the lashing winds and chills in the air rather than fear,
I do not even know what I am afraid of, not of death, not of crime, I do not know.
There is great uncertainty in my soul lately, my heart is pounding, I am sweating
in fear in fifty degree fall weather. My shirt is soaking wet, I have beads of moisture
rolling off my forehead from the intensity of my fear, it is both annoying and
disturbing and embarrassing when people ask me why am I sweating in the cold.
Maybe I am afraid of disapproval, maybe I am afraid of being ridiculed in public
over minor mistakes, this type of event has happened before, the mean spirited
cold laughter of strangers makes me angry, enraged and fearful. Maybe I just do not
like people in general, the world in general, maybe I hate everyone, all of
humanity for their evil ways of not liking me, childish as that is. I am still sweating
but I am cold, cold with wet fear.